My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,71
last night, and let’s just say that we didn’t stop with oil rubdowns.” I smile, knowing that will drive Janey crazy.
As expected, she starts dancing again, but this time it’s more of a pelvic thrusting move alternating with some ass smacking the air. Courtney would be proud of her, probably snatching Janey up to make her the latest addition to her favorite Zumba class.
I can’t help but laugh, but I try to keep it quiet. So instead of being loud, my whole body shakes from the laughter, which makes the bed bounce. That makes Janey even more excited.
“Yass! Bounce that bed with your fat ass. Show me what you’re working with.” Though she stage-whispers it, Lorenzo makes a snort of noise.
Janey and I freeze in horror, sure that we’ve been busted.
But Lorenzo rolls over, facing away from us to curl into a fetal position with his hands up by his cheek. Freaking adorable! And yes, I know how ridiculous it is to describe this big, tatted up bad boy who rocked my world as adorable, but that’s what he is right now.
“Quick, before he wakes up—” Janey babbles lightning fast as she ticks off questions on her fingers. “How is he? Did he dine at the Y? Did you come? How many times?”
“Whoa!” I exclaim, holding up a hand. “Okay, in order: The best by far, yes, oh yeah, and I lost count at six. Or maybe just lost the ability to count because my brain melted to pudding?”
“Holy hot spicy meatballs, woman! I’m so jealous!” Janey says before sighing wistfully.
“Uh, sounds like you had a pretty stellar day too. I think we both came out winners this time. Get it, came?” I tease, even though it’s a bad joke.
Janey grabs a pillow off the floor and throws it at me. “That was awful.”
The pillow makes its target, my head, but it rebounds and bounces into Lorenzo’s back. We go still and quiet once more.
Clear as can be, with no trace of sleep, Lorenzo says, “Should I pretend to ignore that too so you ladies can continue discussing your sex lives?”
Oh, my God! He heard all of that!
I grab the pillow and smack him myself. “You were listening?” I accuse.
He laughs, half turning his head to show off that smirk that’s already melting my heart. “Of course. You aren’t exactly quiet with your screeching . . . ‘oh, my God!’ . . . ‘Janey!’” He mimics my voice, throwing his deeper one high and loud and Americanized.
“You suck!” I’m laughing, not really angry but more embarrassed at being caught talking about how he was my best ever.
“And lick,” he adds. “I think we’ve established that, haven’t we?”
My face blushes furiously, the embarrassment giving way to the sexy memories of last night. Oh, yeah, he licks and sucks, that’s for sure.
Before we delve any deeper into that, my phone goes off with a FaceTime. Leaning back to the nightstand where I set it, I’m hoping to see it’s Violet who I could really spill the tea with right now. Especially about her smart-mouthed cousin.
The universe laughs at that wish, reminding me that it’s not my luck because the call is from Meredith.
“F-M-L,” I groan.
My phone dings again, and Janey looks at me with trepidation. “Whatever it is, you have to answer. It could be important. Besides, if you don’t, she’ll use her dark powers to track you down and send her minions for your soul.”
“Yeah but . . . look!” I complain, my hands gesturing to my nakedness and current situation in bed with the wedding’s chef. “Throw me a robe!” I bark, knowing she’s right. I have to answer.
I pull the robe on and wrap a towel Janey smartly tosses my way around my messy bedhead. It’ll have to do because I don’t have time to do anything else. With a sigh, I put a fake smile on my face and hit the answer button. “Good morning, Meredith.”
My phone shows Meredith rearing back, shocked at my unkept appearance. She’s nearly forking the sign of the devil at me, honestly. “Were you asleep, Miss Andrews?” she accuses coldly.
“Just getting ready,” I reply, not apologizing. “What can I help you with?”
“Harrumph.” She huffs. “I looked for you and your assistant flower girl in the workroom and cooler, but I can see now why I wasn’t able to find you. It’s nearly eleven.” She makes eleven a.m. sound like three in the afternoon.
“Eleven-oh-eight, actually,” I correct, looking at the clock on the nightstand.